


Break my Baby

by justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Cat-o-nine-tails, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Face Slapping, Flogging, Gags, Heavy BDSM, Impalement, M/M, Making Love, Mental Health Issues, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, No Refractory Period, Painplay, Predicament Bondage, Riding Crops, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, S&M, Sensation Play, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Sub Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Feels, Top Tony Stark, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29906250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/justanotherrollingstony
Summary: Failure after failure weighs heavy on Steve, tearing him up inside till he's ready to scream. He fights so goddamn hard and yet nothing he does is right; he fails a mission, he fails to protect Sam, fails to find Bucky, fails to do what he knows he needs to and he's so angry he could fight a platoon of HYDRA and not break a sweat. Knotted up and all wrong, what he needs is something he can't afford to do; break down.Good think Tony knows exactly how to give him what he needs.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 118





	Break my Baby

**Author's Note:**

> So, for those of you who may be new to RACK style BDSM, here's a definition:  
> Risk-aware consensual kink (RACK, also risk-accepted consensual kink) is an acronym used by some of the BDSM community to describe a philosophical view that is generally permissive of certain risky sexual behaviors, as long as the participants are fully aware of the risks. This is often viewed in contrast to safe, sane, and consensual which generally holds that only activities that are considered safe, sane, and consensual are permitted.
> 
> As you might see from the tags, this fic falls heavily into the RACK category. This means that Steve and Tony do not discuss beforehand what is going to happen, nor does Tony offer Steve more than one chance to use his safe word. Should Steve have needed to stop the scene he would have snapped his fingers twice--a practice they've set up for other times when Steve has been unable to speak. For this reason, the "under-negotiated kink" tag is used. 
> 
> Now that you've had a mini lesson on RACK, I hope you enjoy this fic!

***

Steve tightens his grip on the shield, gaze focused on the man standing in front of the middle school, studying the way his skin is glowing red, worms of pulsating crimson surging with each heaving breath he takes, an angry, wild look in his eyes. 

He’s got his cowl shoved back so he can meet the eye of the little girl the man has pressed up against him, his large hand spanning the width of her tiny throat. She’s panicked and breathing sharply, bright green eyes watering and Steve swallows hard, working up a thin reassuring smile for her while Natasha works with Clint to try and figure out a way to bring this stand off to an end. 

Steve wishes Tony was here but he’s been in India all week and even if he had been able to leave immediately, it  _ still  _ would have taken too long for him to get here and make a difference. As it is, they  _ don’t  _ have Tony here, and despite the fact that they’re on the line with him, Steve doesn’t see this ending well. 

“Get the fuck back!” the man shouts when Nat edges forward a mere inch, the heat under his skin flaring brightly and Steve can hear the girl’s whimper of pain, smell the stink of burning flesh. He’d thought all those who partook in the Extremis experiments had died or been cured, but apparently this man hadn’t done either of those. 

“Nat,” he murmurs, sharing a glance with her as she shifts her weight, “we need to end this,” he says over comms. “Tony, what do we do?” he asks softly, heart clenching in his chest at the prolonged silence over the comms before Tony sighs and speaks.

“If you shoot him in the head there’s a 64.73% chance that his body will overload and kill the girl. If you do nothing there’s a 97.34% chance that the stress of the situation will cause him to overload and kill her.”

“Those are shit odds either way Stark,” Clint replies tightly, anger in his voice, his clear blue eyes like chips of ice they’re so hard. 

“There has to be a better way,” Steve whispers, “ _ Tony _ ,” he says,  _ please  _ he means. 

“I’m sorry, the cure for Extremis would take a day to manufacture, I didn’t keep more around because it was supposed to be all gone. I—” Tony’s voice gets thick and there’s a sound suspiciously like a sniffle across the line before he continues. “I’m sorry.” 

“We can keep trying to de-escalate,” Steve says to Natasha, aware that he’s pleading but he doesn’t know what else to  _ do _ and he feels so powerless and angry that he has to blink back the burn of tears that form in his eyes. 

Natasha stares at him, her own eyes sad and too knowing. 

“What’s the blast radius if this guy goes off?” she asks Tony and Steve doesn’t hear the answer because there’s a ringing in his ears and all he can focus on is the terror in the little girl's face. Natasha touches his arm and he flinches, blinking rapidly as she holds his gaze steadily. “I’ll take the shot, you be ready to run and grab the girl,” she says quietly. 

Steve nods and shifts his shield, turning his full attention back to the girl, trying to portray trust with his gaze, hoping that she can see that they’re going to save her. 

They will. 

They have to. 

The man sees the shift in their stances and after that, everything goes to shit.

He finds out later that the man had overloaded seconds before Nat took the shot and that though Steve had managed to wrench the girl away from him, they’d both sustained major burns. 

He lived of course. 

Serum. 

She died. 

* * *

He’s numb when he gets back to his quarters from medical, which is probably why he doesn’t notice the woman in his quarters till he’s nearly face to face with her. He shifts to battle readiness but her hands go up slowly, a wary look on her face as she smiles cautiously at him. 

“Easy there Cap, I’m Agent Skye,” she tells him, still calm and friendly and an unknown variable, here in the very heart of his quarters. Which begs the question…

“How did you get in?” 

She smirks, “I made friends with JARVIS,” she says nonchalantly, one shoulder shrugging up and down. 

“JARVIS,” he calls out; a plea for confirmation.

“Agent Skye is correct Captain, I allowed her entry to the tower at her request. She is not a threat and is in fact, an ally.”

Steve nods and relaxes slightly, studying her for a moment before asking, “CIA?” 

Skye smirks again and shakes her head, “SHIELD.”

“SHIELD is gone,” he retorts, shaking his head vehemently. 

On elegant brow lifts and her mouth quirks to the side, “Yea, thanks for that by the way,” she says, voice a little sharper now, a hint of anger there. 

“I won’t apologize for getting rid of HYDRA,” Steve shoots back, spine stiffening at her attitude. 

“Yea well you  _ didn’t  _ get rid of them, they’ve just gone deeper underground and because you and Romanoff decided to spill SHIELD’s secrets you burned  _ hundreds  _ of agents and got good people  _ killed—” _

“Skye, enough.”

The new voice sends a jolt through him, a flash of recognition and then a figure is stepping out of his bathroom and into the meager light from the windows and—

“Coulson?” he breathes, the name catching in his throat at the sight of the man they’d all thought dead. 

The older man smiles and shrugs, “Long time no see,” he says jokingly and suddenly, Steve is  _ furious _ . 

He barely feels his hands balling into fists as he steps forward, so intent on reaching for the other man he forgets all about Skye till she’s stepping between them and suddenly he’s  _ pushed back  _ by some kind of force field that knocks him on his ass and then holds him there. 

“ _ Skye _ ,” Coulson says sharply, “enough.” 

She shoots him an incredulous look but releases Steve and shifts out of the way, her dark brown eyes reminding him for a painful moment of Tony’s. “What is this?” he demands of Coulson, “how are you alive? Do Natasha and Clint know?” 

Coulson smiles again, that same enigmatic one that had always made Steve want to ask a thousand questions. “I don’t have time to answer that for you right now Cap, but I do have something that will help you in the future should you encounter more meta humans.” 

Skye steps back over, this time carrying a case that Steve didn’t notice before. She opens it and shows him a gun with bullets that seem to glow blue; “It’s called an Icer. It’s non lethal and uses a Dendrotoxin to subdue your target.” She snaps the case shut and holds it out to him, gaze firm and cool.

“In case you run into any more Extremis infected humans,” Coulson murmurs and Steve feels sick, staring down at the case in his hands for a long moment before looking back up at the man.

“Why—”

“Didn’t we help?” Coulson asks, sighing softly at Steve’s nod. “We weren’t close enough to get there in time, but we were monitoring the situation through Romanoff and Barton.”

So they did know. 

Was he the only one who didn’t? 

Did Tony know? 

“A.C. time’s up,” Skye murmurs and a moment later Steve hears the familiar thrum of a quinjet engine. 

Coulson smiles, more genuinely this time and pats Steve on the arm, “We’ve left a beacon with you—if you need us, activate it,” he says, studying Steve for a moment as Skye opens the balcony doors and steps outside, hair dancing in the wind and rain. 

“I’m sorry Cap, I’ll see you again,” he murmurs before following Skye out to the balcony and then onto the ramp of the cloaked quinjet. It hovers there for a moment and then is gone, leaving him to stand in stunned silence, the ache and throb of his burns creeping in around the edges of his muffled and dazed consciousness. 

The numbness from before is fading and now all he can feel is an ocean of anger and hurt and  _ pain _ . 

* * *

Tony finds him sometime later; he’s not sure how long has passed since he started punching the heavy bag, but he’s had to change out his wraps twice when they got stained with blood and his shirt is drenched in sweat, so it’s been a while apparently. He can feel Tony’s too sharp gaze, knowing and piercing in a way that makes his shoulders itch and roll. 

“At this rate I’ll need to replace all of these a whole two months early,” Tony says mildly, hands shoved into his pockets as he circles the bag and leans against the wall, casual by every estimation but Steve’s--he knows Tony so well by now that he can see the lines of tension around his mouth and eyes with barely a glance out of his periphery. 

He grunts and keeps on punching, the anger from earlier burning brighter, frustration making him grit his teeth. 

“Why don’t you take a break and come upstairs?” Tony suggests softly, “we can take a shower and have something to eat--I dunno about you but I’m  _ starving _ ,” he says lightly. “You can tell me about your day.”

Steve looks up sharply at him, sweat burning into his eyes, anger flashing hot inside him like a road flare. “You know how my day was,” he snaps, “but maybe you could tell me how long you knew Coulson was alive and didn’t think it was something worth telling me.”

Tony’s brows rise, shock pouring into his face and Steve feels his stomach drop like a hot rock. “I...had no idea,” Tony murmurs, scrubbing a hand over his jaw slowly, a tired, sad look on his face. “Makes sense though. Nat and Clint never seemed…” he pauses and shakes his head, “yea I guess I should have figured that out,” he murmurs with a hollow laugh that rips into Steve’s guts. 

Tony looks exhausted when he looks up at Steve, a thin smile on his lips. “Well, ha, thanks for telling me I guess,” he says, shaking his head weakly. He rubs a hand tiredly over the nape of his neck and waves the other at Steve, “Do you maybe wanna leave the bag for now and come with me?” he asks hopefully. 

Steve shifts on his feet, still angry and unsettled after the day they’d had. As glad as he is that Tony had apparently flown back early, he can’t be around him right now. Shaking his head, he drops his gaze to the floor where he sees dark splotches of sweat so he doesn’t have to see the look on Tony’s face at his refusal. 

It’s painfully silent for a long time and when he dares to look back up, Tony is studying him intently, jaw set firmly and a look of annoyance in his gaze. Steve’s shoulders square instinctually and he winces as the burns that span his back and right leg twist and pull, the pain of them rushing back now that the tide of endorphins has slowed. Tony’s brows furrow and he steps forward, movements sharp and angry as he grabs Steve’s shirt and yanks it up, exposing the raw wounds. 

“What the  _ fuck _ Steve,” he hisses, dark eyes bright and angry as Steve twists away and puts his back out of Tony’s reach. “You should still be in the med bay,” he says accusingly, “I can’t believe Cho let you out!”

Steve lifts his jaw and unconsciously balls his hands into fists at his sides, righteous anger filling him so easily it’s like breathing. “I’m fine Tony, it’ll be gone by lunch tomorrow,” he says dismissively.

“That’s not the point and you  _ know _ it! We agreed that when you’re injured you actually fucking listen to the doctors! You rest! You don’t pull this shit and risk hurting yourself worse!”

Steve glares at Tony and then turns away deliberately, squaring up at the bag again. “I’m fine, I know my own body. You don’t have to lecture me.”

“Apparently I fucking  _ do _ because here you are, going against doctor’s orders, and  _ mine _ ,” Tony says, a warning in his voice that only serves to sends Steve’s hackles up further. He grits his teeth so hard he’s sure they’re creaking and throws a punch and then another and another, hoping the sound of it will drown Tony out and encourage him to leave. “ _ Steve _ ,” he says warningly, “we made rules.”

Steve shakes sweat out of his eyes and keeps punching, the rhythmic thumping of his fists settling him into a daze, the endorphins rising again so the raw feeling of his back fades again. “I’m fine,” he says curtly, “I don’t need you right now.” 

Later,  _ much _ later, he’ll regret saying that. 

Tony goes quiet and out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees him drop his head and take a slow steady inhale before letting it out just as slowly. There’s defeat and exhaustion in every line of his body before he nods and rubs a hand over his face. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to it Cap,” he mutters, “just uh, make sure you eat something later?” he says, half question and half plea. “If you won’t listen to me about this, just, do that for me?” 

Steve offers a nod and then goes back to the bag, punches growing harder and faster as Tony walks away slowly, body curled down in defeat. Steve feels something hot running down his back and smells copper--the wounds must have opened and begun bleeding. 

Some part of him is viciously pleased--he’s earned this pain, this bloody agony, with his complete failure of that little girl. He knows on some level he shouldn’t have pushed Tony away like he did, but he can’t stand the idea of having Tony look at where he’s raw and split open by his failures. The idea of having Tony be kind to him makes his teeth grit; he certainly doesn’t deserve that. 

He goes until his vision starts greying out and then stumbles upstairs to the suite he shares with Tony, steps unsteady but as quiet as he can as he heads into the shower and lets the water wash away the sweat and blood from his ruined skin. When he makes it to the bed he pauses, brow furrowing when he sees it’s empty. 

“JARVIS, where’s Tony?” he asks, words slurring around the edges slightly with exhaustion. His head feels stuffed with cotton and his whole body aches and throbs, the urge to collapse onto the bed nearly overwhelming. 

“Sir is in his shop.”

Steve frowns deeper but nods--Tony must have been struck with inspiration. He’ll probably sleep on the couch down there and Steve will see him tomorrow. 

“Kay,” he agrees before crawling into bed and grabbing Tony’s pillow to stuff his face into. He inhales and sighs, exhaustion pulling him under the tides of sleep almost instantly. 

When he wakes, the sheets are stained with spots of blood from where his back had split open, but when he checks it in the mirror the skin is pink and healing well, so it’s of little concern to him. He strips the bed and tosses them in the basket to be done later before he heads out to the kitchen, his stomach feeling as though it’s gnawing its way toward his spine. 

He eats four breakfast burritos, half a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon and has two protein shakes before he feels right again and ready to find Sam to discuss their investigation. He’s sure that they’ll find Bucky, even if they haven’t had much luck so far, but hope seems distant today, just out of his reach. The sky is overcast and the forecast calls for a week of rain which only serves to further spoil his mood. 

He tries to reassure himself that it’ll be okay, but the events of yesterday still weigh heavily on him, like an albatross around his neck. He feels weary down to his bones as he brings up the holographic display of everything he and Sam have on Bucky and his movements. He’s remained ten steps ahead of them at every turn and though Sam has gently tried to hint that Bucky might not want to be found, Steve can’t give up, not like he did when Bucky fell and he just never went after him. 

If he had…

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he pours himself another mug of coffee and asks JARVIS to scan for sightings of Bucky even though he knows Tony had long ago asked JARVIS to add it to the list of things he does constantly in the background. 

He just...he needs to know it for himself that JARVIS is doing it. 

“22.58% match in Rio de Janeiro, 12.34% match in Shanghai, 3.22% match in Cape Town, 27.11% match in London, 38.42% match in Romania--”

Steve’s head whips up, “That last one, check it again,” he orders sharply, hands curling tight around the granite edge of the countertop. 

JARVIS is silent for a long moment and then--

“40% match in Romania.”

“Call Sam,” he orders as he pushes away from the counter and strides back to their bedroom. He packs as he tells Sam what JARVIS has found, putting in a requisition request for the quinjet and shouldering his bags, his uniform and shield in one, a few changes of clothes and supplies in the other. 

He’s gearing up the jet when Tony finds him, hands in his pockets again, grease smeared on his cheek and exhaustion in his face as he watches Steve move around the cabin of the jet. Steve glances at him and smiles faintly, “Guess we’re ships in the night, huh?” he says, lightly teasing, his smile fading when Tony keeps staring away from him, lines of strain around his mouth as he nods. 

“Just be careful,” Tony murmurs, voice hoarse, rocking onto his heels before he looks up at Steve and finally meets his gaze. 

Steve shoots him a quick smile and nods, “Careful as I can be,” he agrees, checking the weapons bay one last time. He spies Sam heading out onto the landing pad and then looks back to Tony, “Try to get some sleep, huh?” he teases gently, stepping forward to reach for Tony but missing because Tony shifts out of his reach. It would almost be normal--Sam had stepped onto the gangway and it would look to anyone else like Tony had simply made room for the other man, but Steve has a sinking feeling it was more to get away from him than it was for any other reason. 

“Hey Tony,” Sam greets, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes by, a friendly smile on his face that Tony mirrors--but his doesn’t reach his eyes the way Sam’s does. There’s tension in the air between them as Sam heads to stow his gear and Steve shifts, unsure of what he should say to dispel it. 

“Come back in one piece,” Tony murmurs, eyes growing hard, “That’s an order Steve,” he says quietly, with  _ that _ tone of command that always makes Steve’s blood run hot with want. He swallows hard and nods, stepping forward hopefully so he can kiss Tony goodbye, but the man is stiff in his arms, clearly still upset with Steve after last night. 

He opens his mouth to apologize, but Tony steps back and waves a goodbye to Sam with an order to watch Steve’s back and to come home safe and then he’s gone, walking away with his head bowed against the misty wind, shoulders hunched forward. 

Steve watches till he’s gone and shifts, unhappy that he’d upset Tony, but he’d needed to wear himself down last night, to bleed out the pain and anger and frustration till that emotional wound had been lanced like an infected boil. He’s not sure that it’s all bled out of him even now, but it’s enough that he can focus on trying to find Bucky. 

Turning away, he hits the button to lift the gangway and heads to take his seat beside Sam, shooting him a grin. They’ve got a mission and that’s where all of his focus should be. He’ll talk to Tony when they get back and everything will be fine. 

* * *

Three days. 

Three  _ days  _ they chased the ghost of Bucky around Bucharest, dodging remnants of HYDRA and falling further and further behind as Bucky slipped from their grasp yet again. 

Sam has a strained hamstring, a bruised rib or three and a concussion, and Steve is sick with guilt and self loathing, barely able to look at him as they fly home. Everything he  _ does  _ is a failure it seems--he can’t keep Sam safe, he can’t find Bucky, he can’t even save one little girl and it knots up inside him, vicious and bitter and angry. 

He goes with Sam to medical and sits by his side while the doctor looks him over, gut in knots as Sam winces and grits his teeth at the pain. When he’s sure Sam is going to be okay he slips away and goes to the gym, wraps his hands and pounds out his frustrations on the heavy bag. He’s there until JARVIS alerts him to the fact that he has a charity fundraiser to attend with Tony, and then he’s heading up to their suite to shower and make himself presentable, head still a million miles away. 

It’s not till he’s dressed that he realizes he has no idea where Tony is and when he asks JARVIS, the AI tells him that Tony is already in the town car, waiting for him in the garage. Guilt pricks him that he’s kept Tony waiting and he hurries down to the garage, hair still damp and bowtie crooked. He slides across the leather bench seat to press himself close to Tony, seeking out the comfort of his warmth. 

“How’s Sam?” Tony asks politely, body stiff beside Steve and he’s suddenly reminded of their fight and the fact that they haven’t made up yet. 

“Concussion, bruised ribs and strained hamstring,” he reports grimacing and looking out the window as they pull out of the garage. Guilt sits heavy in his belly like lead and he swallows hard as he recalls the way Sam had taken on two Hydra goons while Steve had been busy trying to look for information on Bucky in another room. If he had just paid better attention, none of this would have happened. 

Tony hums softly but doesn’t say anything and the rest of the drive is quiet, the air awkward and stilted between them. Steve wishes he had the right words to say, but nothing sounds right in his head and the anxiety in his gut makes him feel like crawling out of his skin. He knows he’s fucking up, that by not saying anything he’s only making things worse, but he can’t unclench his jaw to form words. 

The car rolls to a stop before a red carpet and the flashing of the lights is bright, even with the tint of the windows dimming most of it and Steve’s hands fist on his knees, jaw tightening as he prepares himself for the dancing monkey routine he has to endure. He knows Tony does too, but he’s so much better at it than Steve is and it leaves him feeling inadequate and off kilter. 

Tony steps out first and waves, smile bright and what the people lining up along the sidewalk came here to see. Steve inhales shakily and steps out after him, trying to stick close to Tony without looking like he’s a nervous third grader clinging to their mother’s hand. Tony takes his hand and grins at the swell of cheers from the crowd, tugging him along behind him and into the venue. 

Steve feels stiff and awkward next to Tony’s easy showmanship and he knows that his face is probably set in some kind of grimace that will be all over Twitter, but he can’t force a smile when he feels so unsteady. He clings to Tony’s hand, grip too tight and sweaty and Tony looks back at him over his shoulder, gaze sharp and assessing and it feels like he’s been stripped bare in the worst way. 

He shudders and follows along easily as Tony pulls him over to a less crowded section of the bar. Tony orders himself a whiskey and a vodka soda with lime for Steve, and even though it won’t do anything for him he takes it and sips eagerly, just to have something to do with his hands. Tony gives him a minute before he’s pulling him into the crowd to mingle and Steve can’t help the way his shoulders go up at having so many unknown people at his back. 

He plasters on a fake smile, but he can feel the way it’s too tight and he wants to take Tony’s hand again but he doesn’t want to seem clingy so he just stands there, too big and too common to mix with these people that exude luxury so easy it’s like breathing. Tony is the centerpiece as always, bright and shining and lively in a way that draws people in and normally he likes watching it, but tonight it leaves him feeling superfluous and lonely, like he has no right to be here at all. 

He sips his drink until the glass is empty and then lets the ice melt and drinks that too, slipping away when it’s apparent that no one will really miss him so he can get another. He doesn’t really want to drink, but there’s not much else to do here; dinner won’t be served for another hour and it’s not like he’ll actually get enough to eat. His metabolism is ramped up post mission and workout and his stomach feels hollow, like he’s a pumpkin that’s been carved out and had a candle put in it to fool people into thinking there’s life in it. 

He orders whiskey and drinks it quickly, settling himself in the corner of the bar where he can get a wall at his back and watch the room, anxiety making him check each exit every few minutes. He’s tense and ready for action that isn’t coming and it only ratchets up his anxiety and tension the longer it goes on. His hand clenches and unclenches on his glass and he has to push it away when a crack spiders through the glass at the pressure he’s exerting.

He should go find Tony he thinks, but he can’t make himself move from his spot. His skin prickles with awareness, the too loud voices grating on his ears and he shifts once again, restless and itchy. He’s just about talked himself up to moving and going to find Tony when he suddenly spots him across the room, a gorgeous young woman in an emerald green dress making what can only be described as bedroom eyes at Tony. 

Jealousy is something he’s had his fair share of experience with over the years, but when Tony slips a hand around her waist and rests it on the bare skin of her lower back he sees red. The woman smirks and leans into Tony, crimson lips nearly brushing Tony’s cheek as she leans in so her breasts are brushing his chest and her words are whispered in his ear. To his shock, Tony smirks and nods, offering her his arm, and then they’re walking out of the room and Steve is too shocked and hurt to move. It hurts to breathe, to even contemplate what he’s just seen and as much as he tries to tell himself that it’s nothing but a business meeting, that Tony wouldn’t do this to him, some ugly part of his brain is louder, screaming that he’s too weak for Tony, too prone to fuck up for someone as amazing as Tony. 

A sob lodges in his throat and he finally forces himself away from the bar, heading to where he knows the bathrooms are, vision clouding with tears that he can’t,  **can’t** let fall in front of these vultures. He knows that if he breaks down it’ll be all over Twitter so he pushes into the first open stall he finds and braces his hands against the door, breathing shaky and unsteady, trying to pull himself together. 

Metal creaks under his fingers and he yanks his hands away, shaking as he stumbles back and sinks down onto the toilet, gasping as he pictures the look on Tony’s face once more. If he had just stuck by Tony’s side he would have been able to step between them, would have been able to make sure his place was assured. 

God, how pathetic is he that he can’t even keep the attention of one man for a few hours? It feels like there’s an iron band around his lungs, like he’s weak and asthmatic once more, and maybe it’s more true than he thinks. A weak man wouldn’t have let that little girl die, wouldn’t have failed Sam and wouldn’t have fucked up so badly that he sent his lover into the arms of someone else. 

It takes a long time before he’s able to breathe normally again, and by the time he heads back into the ballroom people are taking their seats for dinner. He spots Tony at their table and the woman in the green dress is mercifully absent--he’s not sure he could stand to see them together right now. When he takes his seat beside Tony he’s still shaky and weak, but he manages to reach for his water without his hand shaking. 

“You disappeared, you okay?” Tony asks softly, turned toward Steve, his dark eyes curious and assessing. Steve wonders if he sees the pain he’s feeling. 

He nods stiffly, “Where’s your new friend?” he asks bitterly, the first licks of hot anger kindling in his belly. 

Tony lifts a brow and tilts his head, “I’m sorry?” 

“The woman, in the green dress, you look awfully friendly,” he says, aware that his voice is a little too loud. He can feel the other people at the table staring at him and he wants to snap at them to mind their own business, but instead he firms his jaw and glares at Tony. 

Tony stares at him for a moment before a smirk builds on his face, knowing in a way that makes Steve want to fucking scream. “She’s no one you need to worry about,” he says, like that makes any of it right. 

“No?” Steve challenges, hating the way that Tony gives him an eye roll, as if it’s obvious that Steve is just overreacting, like some kind of spoiled child. He lashes out and grabs Tony’s hand, ignoring the wince on his face as he squeezes too hard. “Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he hisses, voice low and sharp. 

Tony smiles, fake and too bright and he knows people are watching them. “I said you have nothing to worry about, do you think I’m  _ lying _ ?” he murmurs, wiggling his fingers to escape from Steve’s grasp. 

Steve lets him go but his glare doesn’t relent. He doesn’t want a scene, but he’s so angry and hurt he can barely speak. Shaking his head, he looks away and picks up his fork to stab at the salad in front of him. “We’ll talk at home,” he murmurs before shoving a forkful of lettuce into his mouth. 

“Yes, we will,” Tony replies evenly, but there’s a hint of anger in it and it sets Steve’s blood alight, the fight in him settling into his bones. They remain icy all night, biting barely polite words at each other and at the first opportunity Tony makes their goodbyes, checking in on Sam their excuse for their early departure. 

The ride back is silent and tense and Steve’s hands clench and unclench on his knees, angry words bitten back behind his clenched teeth. Tony stares out the window and doesn’t speak, his whole body tense and turned away from Steve. Steve can feel the fight brewing between them as the elevator carries them up to their suite, anger and hurt and a crippling sense of hopelessness making his gut wrench. 

The door to the suite shuts behind them and Tony starts yanking at his tie, obviously angry and on edge. “JARVIS suite lockdown, no disturbances unless the world is in imminent danger. Blackout Protocol.” When he’s done speaking he whirls on Steve, glaring. “What the  _ fuck  _ was that Steve?” 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Steve bites back, “I wasn’t the one going off with some strange woman doing god knows what in the shadows,” he snarls. 

Tony recoils, hurt flashing on his face before it gets put away behind a mask that Steve is simultaneously jealous of and pissed at. “She wasn’t  _ some strange woman _ ,” Tony says between gritted teeth, “she’s Pepper’s old friend from school and she wanted to ask if I thought she had a chance if she asked Pepper to dinner.”

“Oh.”

He feels dumb and wrong footed and it only makes the anger spike inside him more--defensive and hot. “Well it sure didn’t look like that,” he snaps, tugging off his tux jacket and tossing it aside, avoiding Tony’s look of disbelief by bending down to unlace his loafers. 

“I don’t give a shit what it looked like Steve, I’m telling you what happened. Do you not trust me?” he demands, stepping closer. “Do you really think I’d  _ cheat  _ on you?”

Steve swallows and rises, kicking off his shoes and balancing on one foot as he peels his socks off. “No,” he admits, but nothing else comes forth, no apology, no explanation--it’s all dammed up inside his head where he’s swirling through guilt and anger and hurt. Over and over again he fucks up and it makes him so mad he wants to  _ scream _ .

“So are we gonna talk about what's been eating you all week?” Tony asks sharply, “First you hurt yourself during a mission and don’t take care of yourself like you’re supposed to and then you run off with Sam to try and escape talking about it, and then you accuse me of  _ cheating _ ?” 

Steve whirls, anger making his hands fist at his sides. “I went with Sam because the algorithm  _ you _ designed said it was likely Bucky was in Bucharest,” he snaps, “I wasn’t running from  _ anything _ .”

Tony scoffs loudly and shakes his head, “Right, sure thing Cap,” he drawls sarcastically, the insouciance making Steve’s blood boil. “You sure you didn’t look for any excuse to get away instead of dealing with your shit?” 

“Fuck you,” Steve snaps, stalking toward Tony to loom over him, hands fisted at his sides and he’s shaking with anger now; body desperate for an outlet for everything that’s trapped inside his too small skin, rattling around his bones till he’s sure he’s going to burst with all of it. 

Tony smirks sharp like a knife and it cuts Steve, the sting of it leaving him breathless and a little dizzy. 

“Oh I’m thinking about it,” Tony murmurs, body language shifting into something more loose, beguiling. “Get on your knees Steve,” he says, the order obvious, but like hell is Steve listening now, he’s not moving a goddamn inch. 

“Make me,” he hisses back and sees the light in Tony’s eyes change, heat and hunger filling them as he smirks at Steve. He yearns for a fight, blood thrumming through his veins and he’s aware his cock is hardening in his trousers but he’s not sure if he wants to fuck or fight, all he knows is that he’s not giving in. 

Faster than he’d think Tony capable, he moves and suddenly the whine of the gauntlet repulsor is singing in his ear as Tony’s hand latches onto his throat and squeezes. Dark eyes glitter up at him and he struggles to inhale, shoulders pulling back hard so he breaks free, “That all you got?” he hisses, words bitter and angry and biting. 

Tony laughs low and dark and a second later the suit is flying out of the wall storage in their room and instead of forming around Tony, it flies to him and locks in place around his limbs. He tries to take a step to evade it but the suit locks up and forces him to remain still, the left gauntlet grabbing his right wrist and yanking it behind his back. The strain of it in his shoulder doesn’t hurt, and he can tell it will if he tries to fight it, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to move, to fight back against being held in place. 

Tony watches him with interest, the gauntlet still on his right hand. “Mark 38, to the Grey Room,” he orders and then Steve is being frog marched into their playroom, Tony following along behind him at a sedate pace. “Wrist restraints, level 5,” he calls out and the suit peels away from his arms, only to be quickly replaced by the adamantium and vibranium magnetic cuffs Tony had made for just this purpose. 

“Ankle restraint level 5,” Tony murmurs and the suit peels away from his legs and torso till he’s left in just his shirt and trousers, matching restraints locking around his ankles, except these are boots like the Iron Man ones, complete with repulsors that Tony starts with a command and uses to move him across the room. 

“Iron cage,” Tony murmurs and the ceiling opens and a set of bars slide down quietly, coming to a halt a good three feet above his head.

“Secure arms.” 

Steve tries to fight his arms lifting, but the magnetic pull of the cuffs on his wrist are too strong and soon his hands are secured to the bar above his head. He struggles and curses, every instinct telling him to fight, to prove that he’s not weak and that he won’t give in so easy and Tony just smirks at him and rolls his eyes. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he tells Steve calmly, “not unless you safeword.” 

Steve bares his teeth in a snarl, “I’m not weak, I can take whatever you’ve got,” he challenges, determined to prove himself, to meet the challenge that Tony’s thrown down. 

Tony smirks, but it looks tired and sad instead of pleased, and nods, “Yea, I know you can,” he says softly. He studies Steve for a moment and then straightens, a mask of indifference falling over his face, “You’ve been hurting yourself and ignoring our rules, and instead of talking to me you’ve been pushing both of us. I’m going to give you the punishment you deserve and you’re going to take it. If you need to safeword, I encourage you to do so, otherwise, you will receive no mercy tonight. Do you understand?” 

Steve bares his teeth and tugs at his bonds, “I can take anything,” he snaps, desperate to prove himself right, to prove that he can actually get just one thing right when he’s been fucking up so much this week. 

Tony nods slowly and then claps his hands together, the right still gauntleted, crimson red like a promise of everything to come. “Good,” he says as he steps forward and grasps both sides of Steve’s shirt collar and pulls, the fabric ripping with the aid of the gauntlet. Tony keeps ripping, tearing the shirt to shreds to get it off his body, leaving him bare from the waist up. 

He does the trousers next and tosses aside the ruins of the fabric, and then it’s just his briefs left--gone in a breath. 

When he’s completely bare Tony circles him, fingers dancing over his spine and then gone again, and then he’s in front of Steve, studying him for a moment. “Secure feet,” he orders, “spread 30%.” 

Steve’s legs spread just a little past hip width and then the magnetic boots clunk to the ground and he’s pulled taut between his wrists and feet, the stretch making something in his back pop pleasantly. Tony steps up to him slowly, “Lower, 8%,” he orders and the ground beneath Steve shifts, panels sliding apart and then he’s lowered down into a small dip, putting him now a good six inches lower than Tony’s head. 

Tony nods, studying him for a minute before he turns away and walks over to the storage cabinet, his body preventing Steve from seeing what he’s doing and what he’s getting out till he turns around and Steve can see clearly. There’s a flogger in his right hand and a spider gag in the other and Steve immediately shakes his head vigorously—he  _ hates _ the spider gag, it makes him drool all over himself and it makes his jaw ache and he feels like a stupid animal when he’s wearing it, unable to speak, forced to take whatever Tony wants to give him. 

His gut twists with anticipation as Tony smirks and strides over, “Open your mouth,” he orders and Steve clenches it hard, glaring back in retaliation. Tony laughs wryly and shakes his head, “Oh Captain, it’s useless to fight,” he says with another laugh, mean and cutting and it makes Steve’s spine go rigid with anger.

“Make me,” he snarls again before clamping his jaw shut and glaring. 

Tony smirks and drops the flogger before stepping forward and wrapping his gauntleted hand around Steve’s throat, tighter than before. His air cuts off immediately and he lifts a brow because Tony knows he can hold his breath for nearly eight minutes—if he wants Steve to comply, he’s going to have to wait. 

Tony studies him for a moment before releasing him and stepping back, nodding decisively. “Wrist restraints release, gravity 75%,” he says and then turns away, heading back toward the storage cabinets as the cuffs on his wrist disconnect from the bars overhead, the artificial gravity in them increasing rapidly. 

Steve fights it of course, but he’s unable to fight the pull for long, the pull on his shoulders making them ache till he’s finally forced to the ground, knees bending and resting on the cold metal flooring. The cuffs on his wrists clink against the floor as the magnetic pull connects them, the artificial gravity heavy enough that no matter how hard he pulls he can’t get free. 

“I can see this is going to be hard for you, so fight as much as you want,” Tony announces from across the room as he digs through the cabinets, for what Steve isn’t sure, “I enjoy when you dig in your heels.” Steve scowls at his back but firms his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait Tony is so clearly laying out for him. He’s not going to say a goddamn thing just because Tony provokes him. 

He fixes his gaze on the far wall, the brushed steel paint allowing him to focus on something other than the pull in his shoulders and the sound of Tony moving around. The sound of wheels drags his attention back to Tony a few minutes later and when he looks up he finds Tony pushing a tray over, an array of toys and tools on it that sends an irrepressible shiver over his spine. 

Tony moves gracefully, bending to pick up the flogger he’d dropped earlier, dropping it onto the tray next to another one that Steve recognizes as the cat-o-nine-tails with metal beads woven through the leather. His stomach drops at the sight of it at the same time that his blood heats—it’s going to hurt,  _ badly _ , but he can’t deny the way it makes his cock thicken and he hates himself a little at how easily he gets hard over the idea of Tony hurting him. 

Tony stands in front of him, gaze flat and assessing as he tugs the cufflinks from his shirtsleeves and tosses them on the tray, the metal plinking and rolling before settling. Steve watches him back, jaw firm and gaze challenging as Tony rolls up his sleeves methodically till they’re just above his elbows. The gauntlet is gone for now, but the silver bracelets rest around Tony’s wrists, ready and able to call it back the moment he needs it. 

“Open your mouth,” Tony orders, picking up the spider gag in one hand and a circlet of metal in the other. Steve recognizes it as the collar that they’ve never had call to use before this and tries to shrink away from it—it’s designed to expand and hold his head however Tony wants it, preventing him from moving and looking around by the cage that will emerge and encapsulate the back of his skull. 

When he doesn’t comply Tony slaps him, sharp and quick, across the left side of his face, the pop of it loud in the quiet of the room. The sting of it rings through his head for a moment before it settles into a throbbing warmth that he tries to ignore—he won’t give in that easily. Tony lifts a brow, a half amused smirk on his lips as he backhands Steve’s right cheek, the blow harder than before, leaving an ache in his jaw that fades slowly. 

“Open your mouth,” Tony orders again, but he’s smirking, like he knows Steve won’t comply, and when he doesn’t do anything more than stare balefully up at him, Tony chuckles softly and slaps him again, one on each side, hard and fast and then grabs his jaw in a tight grip and the collar slides around his throat, cool against his skin. 

“Collar expand 80%, contract 12%,” Tony murmurs, smirking at the way Steve shakes his head, fighting it every step of the way as the collar grows till it’s pushing his chin up at an angle, the contraction of it making him work to draw in a deep breath. It’s not bad, not yet, but he knows if he keeps fighting it will be and something stubborn flares in his gut. 

He  _ won’t _ give in. 

Tony nods and pats his cheek gently, “There we go, much better,” he says, but there’s no hint of praise behind it like there normally is and Steve tugs at his wrists, angry and hurt and hungry for more—he’s all knotted up inside and he can’t stand it. He wants to run away and hide nearly as badly as he wants to meet the challenge Tony’s presenting. Gritting his teeth, he squares his shoulders and glares challengingly up at Tony, a pulse of heat and anger going through him when Tony laughs, coldly amused at his defiance. 

“You won’t give an inch, will you Captain?” he says, not a question at all so Steve doesn’t attempt to respond. Tony shakes his head and shrugs a shoulder, the motion lazy and elegant, “Fine by me, I’ll enjoy breaking you down that much more,” he says and then slaps Steve  _ hard _ , hard enough to leave his ears ringing. Shock shudders down his spine and he grits his teeth at the way his cock twitches against his thigh, but before he has more than a moment to acknowledge that he’s starting to get hard Tony slaps him again, just as hard, on the other side of his face. 

The heat of the stinging blows sinks into his bones, twining its way around them and toward his mind, teasing him with the sweetness of the pain, enticing him to just give in and feel. He pushes it aside and stares determinedly up at Tony, accepting each blow and ignoring his cock as it grows harder and harder till it’s fully hard and straining towards his belly. When he finds himself leaning into the next blow he shakes his head as best he can and pulls back, determined to keep himself from reacting further. 

Tony laughs softly, “Ankle restraints spread, 25%,” he orders and Steve’s legs spread till his balls are a few inches from the ground and then Tony steps forward and uses the toe of his shiny Louboutin loafers to nudge them, smirk widening when Steve flinches at the touch. Tony’s hand fists in his hair and tilts his head back, smirking down at him as he nudges them again, harder this time, an edge of pain to it that makes him fight to swallow, too little oxygen slipping down his throat so he’s just barely dizzy. 

Tony holds him there for another moment and bounces his sac, fingers pulling at Steve’s hair sharply, the pain of it singing down his spine and settling hot in his belly. When he releases him Steve swallows and sucks in a breath, head fuzzy around the edges. Tony slaps him without warning, harder than he has before and this time he sees stars, lips parting so he can pant and that’s when Tony moves, seizing the opportunity Steve’s given him. 

The metal of the spider gag is cold as Tony forces it between his teeth and he tries to fight, to yank his head away but the collar keeps him from getting far and then the gag is settled in place and Tony’s latching it behind his head and he’s shaking with shame and anger, drool already starting to pool in his mouth. 

When he’s done, Tony steps back and studies him, a gleam of something dark in his eyes as he smirks and nods. “There we are Captain, now you don’t need to fight, you can just be exactly as I want you,” he murmurs, the placating tone sending anger fizzling through his veins. He lunges against his restraints and gets nowhere, frustration filling him up, hot and throbbing in his chest. “I know, I know, you’ll feel better soon though,” Tony croons, cupping his cheek with one hand, thumb stroking at the corner of the gag where his mouth is spread wide open, gaze dark and covetous. 

Tony pushes two fingers into his mouth and Steve can taste whiskey and salt on his skin as they press his tongue down, drool spilling over his spread lips. Tony pushes them deeper and Steve flushes in shame at the moan that builds in his throat, angry at himself for giving even that little bit up. Tony seems pleased, if the smile on his face is anything to go by, but he pulls his fingers free and wipes them on Steve’s cheek like he knows how much it makes Steve ashamed, not because he dislikes it, but because he likes it  _ so much _ . 

“Right, I think you need something to fill that mouth,” Tony says, stepping back. He grabs something off the tray and then crouches down in front of Steve and he can see what it is now, a dildo that’s long and thick and sure to make it that much harder for him to breathe. Tony smirks at him and Steve hates the way his cock throbs at the look, traitorous thing that it is. “Arms extend, 87%,” he orders, watching as Steve’s cuffs slide forward on the floor till they’re where Tony wants, the strain of it making his shoulders pull tight. 

Tony grabs his hair and pulls his head up, the metal of the collar pressing into his throat so he struggles to breathe, head spinning. The dildo gets affixed to the floor and then Tony is pressing him down, the spider gag holding his mouth open so it slides easily into his mouth and then back into his throat. It’s not warm like Tony’s cock would be and he huffs in annoyance, shifting in his bonds and trying to move, but there’s nowhere to go, not unless Tony lets him. 

“There we go Captain, you just keep that nice and wet for me while I get your hole ready,” Tony says, the casualness of it making Steve’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. His cock throbs and he closes his eyes tight, shame and arousal and anger tangled up inside him till he’s not sure what he feels the most. He’s bent in half, ass up in the air and he can hear it as Tony walks around, doing god knows what and the idea that Tony could and  _ will _ do anything he wants to Steve sends a shiver of fear down his spine, tangling up with the aching want he’s trying to ignore. 

A cool, wet finger brushes against his hole and then pushes in, slick and smooth and he grunts at the intrusion, throat fluttering around the dildo in his mouth. Tony pumps it into him a few times and then adds another, the burn of it making him squirm, and though he doesn’t get anywhere, Tony laughs at him for trying and he flushes with anger, forcing himself to hold still, to ignore as best he can the sensations battling for his attention. 

After just a few minutes Tony pulls his fingers free and wipes them on Steve’s back, the slick trails of lube on his skin making him shiver as Tony gets to his feet and walks away. Steve can’t see anything except the ground in front of him, can only listen intently to try and figure out what’s coming. Tony’s shoes pass by him and he can sense Tony at his back, but nothing happens for a long time, and then suddenly he hears the faint  _ whoosh _ of something moving through the air and then he jolts at the heavy thud of a paddle connecting with his ass. 

At first there’s nothing, not even pain, and then sensation rushes back and his ass is throbbing and hot and before he’s even gotten a chance to breathe Tony paddles him again, this time on the other side. The pop of wood against his ass is loud in the room, over and over again, the heavy weight of it sending him jolting forward so the dildo slides down his throat just a little more and his oxygen is cut off. 

He grows dizzy, trying to hold himself still, to remain impassive and to some degree he does; he doesn’t moan or groan or make any sound at all really, and despite the way he wants to, he fists his hands and forces himself to remain silent. 

He won’t give in. 

Eventually Tony stops paddling him, stepping away again and that’s when Steve’s control comes under assault—the heat in his ass grows the longer the paddle is gone, throbbing and painful and he’s suddenly aware of the fact that his cock is dripping on the floor. Shame turns his face bright red and he chokes back a groan, hands clenching and unclenching as Tony moves around the room, doing something that Steve can’t see. 

He can hear things moving, the mechanized sound of gears turning, and he tries to focus on that instead of the way his lips are slick with drool against the dildo or the way his ass throbs or his cock drips. Tony comes back eventually, Steve can just see the gleam of his shoes out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well Captain, I’m all ready for you now. Wrist restraints, connect to ceiling bar,” he orders, standing close by as Steve is hauled up by the restraints magnetic pull, the dildo slipping out of his mouth in a gush of drool and as he’s pulled further upright he flushes in shame at the pool of drool on the floor he’s left behind. 

His cock twitches at the sight of it and Tony smirks, “Yes, you made quite the mess Captain. Another time I’d have you clean it up, but I think you’ve still got a little too much fight left in you to let you free. Besides, you look devine in that spider gag, I think I’ll keep you like that for a little while longer.” 

Steve glares at him as his hands are pulled up till he’s connected once more to the bars overhead, but Tony just smirks. “Floor, sink 30%, feet elevate and spread 15%,” he orders, “upper bars retract, 20%.” Steve tries to look down at what’s happening but the collar keeps him from being able to look very far. Still, he can see the floor beneath him sinking as the bars above him retract, pulling him taut. Two blocks form beneath his feet and the restraints at his ankles grow heavy, the artificial gravity holding him down so he can’t lift his legs free. 

Tony nods and circles around behind him fiddling with something that Steve can’t see and then suddenly there’s something at his hole, resting against his rim but not pushing in. Tony hums, satisfied, and then he’s back in front of Steve, standing beside the tray, and for the first time he can really see what’s on it. Clover clamps, crop, cat-o-nine-tail, a bottle of something he can’t identify, and a regular flogger. 

Elegant fingers dance over the tools for a moment before landing on the crop and then Tony’s twirling it, watching it whip through the air with a smirk before he turns his attention on Steve, gaze steady and firm. “Good luck Captain,” he murmurs and then brings the crop down sharply on Steve’s left nipple. 

His body jolts and whatever is at his hole slides over his wet skin but still doesn’t push in and his hole clenches needily, cock throbbing against his belly as the pain and heat sinks into his skin. It’s good, even if he doesn’t want to admit it and he takes a shaky breath and reminds himself not to tense as Tony swings again, the blow landing on the right side this time. 

Tony layers the strikes, swinging right to left like a paintbrush and then top to bottom in short harsh strokes till Steve’s nipples are throbbing painfully and he’s unable to fight a groan, unable to look away from Tony’s face with the way the collar holds him still. He’s breathing unsteadily now, still determined not to give in, even as his cock throbs and leaks, so wet that his skin is slick with pre cum and it embarrasses him, how much it makes him wet to be hurt like this. 

He squirms in his bonds and closes his eyes as Tony studies him, gaze dark and knowing—like he can see into Steve’s head and pick out all his weak spots. He gasps wetly in shock when slick fingers rub his nipples, the sting and throb of them turning hot and he sucks in a breath through his nose, the scent of cinnamon hitting his nose just as his nipples start burning, the pain of it forcing a garbled groan past his wide open lips. 

His eyes flash open to stare at Tony, the smirk on his lips making Steve tug on his bonds angrily. If Tony thinks he’ll give in this easily, he’s got another thing coming. He meets Tony’s gaze firmly, ignoring the way his chest throbs and burns and his cock leaks, dripping onto the floor beneath him. 

“That’s right Captain, fight me,” Tony murmurs before turning to the tray and picking up the clover clamps. The metal of the chain rattles as he passes it between his hands, studying Steve with a faint smirk on his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll break eventually,” Tony says and for a second, he looks sad at the prospect, but then his face brightens with a grin and he steps forward. 

The first clamp goes on and Steve inhales sharply, eyes fluttering for a moment at the hot surge of pain; it’s deep and aching, the oil on his skin making it burn. The second goes on quickly after and Tony tugs at the chain, sending a sharp spiral of pain through Steve’s chest that leaves him breathing raggedly, head spinning as he drools and pants. He sounds like a dog and he fights an embarrassed whine, screwing his eyes shut for a moment as he forces himself to slow his breathing and work through the pain. 

His eyes flash open when the crop lands on the skin of his pec, just above the clamp, setting the chain to shifting coldly against his skin. He shudders and fists his hands, struggling not to groan and the crop lands again and again, working around his nipple, the skin turning hot and red. Tony works him over slowly, layering the blows on till he’s apparently satisfied and then switches seamlessly to the other nipple. 

The collar prevents him from looking down fully, but what little he can see makes his head spin for a moment; Tony’s layered the blows so that the ones closest to his nipples are nearly purple they’re so dark, and the further they get away from the nipple, the lighter they become so it looks like a blooming rose. 

Tony always has been artistic, though Steve doesn’t think many people would call  _ this  _ art. 

  
  


A shiver runs over his spine as Tony ceases using the crop, his movements elegant as he turns and pulls a bottle of water from the mini fridge, eyes dark and piercing as he drinks from it and watches Steve. His throat works a few times before he’s done drinking, and Steve finds himself dazed, staring at the warm wheat gold skin, fingers clenching with the desire to touch it. He closes his eyes and inhales slowly, reminding himself of all the reasons he’s hurt and angry, unwilling to give in to Tony.

“Spread feet 5%,” Tony says quietly and Steve’s legs spread, his body sinking down just enough that the thing at his hole presses against it harder, pushing just past the rim and settling there so he’s forced open but not fully penetrated and he squirms as much as he can, but it doesn’t slip out or go in further and his frustration builds once more. 

Tony nods in satisfaction and twirls the crop again, studying Steve for a moment before he swings and brings it down on the soft, delicate skin inside Steve’s right thigh. It stings sharply and Steve’s hamstring twitches, his leg shifting to try and get away from the pain, but Tony just follows him, blows falling hard and fast, up and down his thigh till it’s all a line of pain. 

Steve breathes heavily, sweat building on his brow and chest as Tony switches sides, the crop falling over and over again, layering harder strikes near the crux of his hip till Steve is squirming and bucking his hips back, trying desperately to get away from the pain even as his cock throbs and drips. Embarrassment and shame and anger burn in his chest as he fights a sob because he doesn’t want to like it, doesn’t want to give in to the way the pain feels so good, to the way it’ll take him out of his head if he lets it because if he does that, he’s giving in, he’s  _ weak _ and he refuses to be weak again. 

His cock has other ideas though, throbbing and pulsing every few blows, and he can feel the orgasm building in his belly even as he tries to stave it off, eyes burning with angry, ashamed tears. Tony taps the crop lightly against his balls and Steve tenses, fear and hunger knotting in his belly as Tony smirks faintly and taps them again. 

“What do you think, Captain? Do you think if I hit you here you’ll come?” he asks, tapping Steve’s balls a little harder, a warning, a promise. “Let’s find out, hmm?” 

Steve braces himself for it, but he’s unprepared for the pain anyway, eyes blowing open wide as Tony crops his balls, sending them swinging and throbbing in agony. He cries out as Tony does it again, body rippling as he thrashes—or tries to anyway—a guttural cry of pain falling from his lips as he comes, painting his belly, the pain throbbing through him so deeply it makes tears well in his eyes. 

Dizziness has him closing his eyes, fighting to keep the tears back as he keeps coming, a final blow to his balls making him sob, chest heaving and clamps swinging gently as his body shudders in ecstatic agony. It hurts so good that his cock keeps leaking after he’s stopped coming, the throb in his balls making him shake, deep heaving breaths making the chain on the clamps slide and swing. 

Tony sets aside the crop and reaches for the bottle and Steve bucks his hips back when Tony reaches for him, shaking his head weakly, gasping when Tony slaps him across the face, the sting of it distracting him just long enough that he misses it when Tony slicks up his fingers. They wrap around his balls, rubbing the cinnamon oil into his skin and Steve sobs, thighs trembling at the burning that spreads over his skin. 

Shivers run over his skin again and again at the pain, the delicate skin throbbing and swollen, burning so badly it brings tears to his eyes. He blinks rapidly, breath sawing in and out of his lungs as Tony steps away and cleans his hands off with wet wipes, movements efficient and clinical. 

It feels harder to focus now and he shakes his head, trying to push away the cotton that’s building in his brain. Tony reaches for the crop and walks behind him and there’s nothing for a moment and then a blow lands on his right asscheek, the throb there reignited, resonating deep into the tissue where the paddle has bruised him. 

He shivers and fights to steady his breathing, upset that he’s given in even this little bit. Tony trades sides of his ass with each blow, taking his time to layer them on, inch by inch till Steve is sweating and breathing harshly through his nose as his cock leaks heavily and his balls burn and throb. “Spread feet, 8%, lower arms 2%,” Tony says as the crop falls on the soft skin at the top of his thigh, right at the crease of his ass. 

Steve’s lowered further and the thing at his hole presses in nearly two inches, the stretch of his arms above his head lessening just a touch so his shoulders aren’t pulled so taut. The crop falls on his thighs and he clenches down on the thing inside him, the stimulation of it not enough, and he grunts in frustration, trying to bend his knees so he’ll sink down deeper. 

The crop lands on his balls and he shouts, cock spurting at the shriek of pain, head spinning with how good it feels. 

“Stand straight,” Tony orders and he forces his shaking thighs to press him upright, whining as he goes, the skin of his balls swollen and tingling with heat. It hurts so bad he can barely think straight, his cock throbbing and leaking the only other thing he can focus on as he gasps wetly, head held up by the collar. “Good,” Tony says lightly, any of the usual praise or warmth missing from his voice and Steve shudders, something deep inside him crying out in sorrow. 

He breathes for a long time, not really noticing that Tony hasn’t continued cropping him till the pain in his balls turns warm and sinks deep into him, settling in his belly, an ache curling within him for more, even as he flushes with shame at how much he wants it. When he manages to open his eyes again, Tony is in front of him, flogger in one hand, the other holding a bottle of water to his lips as he drinks. 

Distantly Steve notes that Tony’s brow is glistening, the hair his temples damp with sweat and when he inhales he can just barely smell it, the scent of cinnamon and cum nearly overpowering it. It’s comforting—knowing that even if Tony is looking at him with blank eyes, this much is still the same. Tony sets the empty bottle down on the tray and thumbs the dampness from the corner of his mouth away before smiling at Steve, “Ready Captain?” he asks politely, twirling the flogger. 

Steve blinks at him for a moment because he’s forgotten why he was upset and he has to push at the fog in his head a little harder than he has before to find his anger again, his hurt and shame. It feels slippery in his mind, hard to hold onto but he recalls the face Tony had made when the woman had whispered in his ear and the way that little girl’s body had been burned and there, it’s easier now. 

Tony lifts a brow at the scowl on his face and smirks, shaking his head, “Okay Cap, you just keep fighting,” he says softly, and then he’s stepping away, moving behind Steve and he knows what’s coming. “Spread feet 12%, lower arms 5%, expand 20% lengthen 25%,” he says and Steve grunts as his arms are lowered and his feet are spread wider, sending him sinking down on the thing inside him—which is,  _ shit _ , it’s expanding, pressing against his rim and stretching him. 

“That’s about four of my fingers and about four inches deep,” Tony tells him conversationally and Steve fights a whine because the stretch is just a little too much, too firm and his rim is burning and his balls are throbbing and hot and his nipples hurt so badly that if he thinks about it too much he’s going to whimper. 

“Expand 2% and lengthen 3.5% every five minutes,” Tony orders and then the flogger falls across his shoulders and Steve sways with the motion of it, the chain of the clamps swinging and sending agony shooting through his nipples. He groans and Tony hums behind him, a pleased sound that he wants to be angry at, but something else in him wants to preen at the sound. 

He only knows how long it goes on by the number of times that the thing inside him moves and grows—4. He comes twice from the buildup of heat in his back; this flogger is designed for warmups so it doesn’t really hurt, it just adds to the overwhelming sensations that fill him with heat and pain and want. 

His head is stuffed with cotton candy by the time Tony ends, but when he steps around Steve to study him he forces himself to meet Tony’s gaze steadily, challenging him for more. Tony’s mouth quirks, but it’s not a  _ pleased _ look and Steve fights the urge to squirm and whine, shame filling him. 

_ You’re letting Tony down, why do you keep fighting?  _ something in him whispers and he shakes his head, heart clenching painfully in his chest. 

_ The girl the girl the girl  _

He forces himself to remember, to cling to it so he doesn’t break. Tony needs to see how strong he is, how he’s not going to break or fuck up or  _ fail _ . 

He watches as Tony sets aside the flogger, fingers running over the cat-o-nine-tails for a moment, shoulders stiff and up around his ears. Tony sighs heavily and then picks up the flogger, the clack of the beads sending a ripple of fear through Steve. He’s determined not to break, not to give in, but it’s going to hurt in a way he’s never experienced and he can’t deny it frightens him. He forces himself to take deep steady breaths as Tony turns back to face him, expression impassive and cold. 

Tony says nothing, just circles behind him and after only one inhale, the first blow lands. The work that Tony’s done of warming up his back means that he’s already sensitive, already aching faintly, but the blow of the cat-o-nine-tails is so much more than pain, it’s  _ agony _ . 

He howls and writhes in his bonds, but Tony is relentless, laying another blow on the opposite shoulder. The pain is white hot and bone deep and he shouts, cock pulsing hard, nipple clamps jolting, balls throbbing and it’s...he can’t think past the pain. He focuses on it, on the heat in his balls, the aching pleasure of his cock, sobbing at the next blow that has his cock twitching and leaking. 

“To-neee,” he moans, drooling and groaning as tears build in his eyes. Every thought is shoved out of his head, all the anger and shame and hurt, all the voices in his head blessedly silent. All he can do is breathe and take it, and then it’s suddenly that easy to go limp as Tony hits him again, the white hot pain blossoming on his back as two more blows land. 

He doesn’t hear Tony say anything, but the toy inside him expands, pushing deeper, wide enough now that it’s like Tony’s arm is inside him and he groans, drooling and moaning at the thought. He squirms on it, wishing it would fuck him, or vibrate, but no, it does nothing but sit inside him, too much and not enough all at the same time. 

He’s in an endless sensation feedback loop, his whole body one raw nerve that Tony keeps finding new ways to pluck. The cat-o-nine-tails falls again on his back, layering on top of the blows Tony’s already done and he screams, chest heaving as he shudders, coming so hard it lands on the hot skin of his nipple before dripping slowly down his chest. He’s had no chance to catch his breath, still moaning and sobbing when the scent of cinnamon fills his nose and he whines in fear, trying to twist away from Tony. 

He can’t get anywhere, of course, and then Tony’s rubbing the oil into his skin and he’s shrieking, shaking and sobbing, and he’s somehow coming again, or he’s still coming, the static in his head growing so loud he can’t hear anything else. The next thing he knows Tony is in front of him, blurry through the tears in his eyes and then the clamps are coming off and Tony’s hands are slick and warm, massaging his chest, the throb of it making him whimper. 

Tony thumbs at his nipples, rolling them between his fingers, petting and pulling at them till Steve is squirming and hard again (still?). His fingers press into Steve’s chest hard, massaging until the tension there starts to ease and then he’s reaching down and fondling Steve’s balls, renewing the aching throb there, the burn of his abused skin making tears roll down his cheeks. 

He whines pleadingly at Tony, drool dripping down his chin and onto his chest and Tony just stares at him, gaze cool and assessing. “That’s it Captain,” he murmurs, “take it.” 

Steve’s cock jumps and throbs as Tony squeezes his balls, thighs trembling with the urge to collapse. His arms have lowered and he sinks down further on the thing inside him, sobbing as it pushes deeper into him, too much, so he forces himself up, groaning as it drags over his prostate. His thighs shake and he’s not sure how long he can hold himself up like this, especially not when Tony grabs his cock and squeezes once,  _ hard. _

His hips buck into the touch, desperate for more friction and he slips, sliding down the thing inside him, a sob falling from his drooling mouth at how full he’s stuffed. Tony shifts to the side and studies him, a curious look in his eyes before he moves and digs his fingers into the welts and bruises on Steve’s back, agony singing through his veins once more, renewed and hotter than before. Steve gasps and chokes on his spit for a moment, twisting to try and get away but Tony is relentless, digging his fingers in and dragging them down Steve’s back, forcing shouts from Steve and spurts of cum from his cock. 

He’s going to come again, he can feel it, and shame wells inside him at how  _ easy _ Tony finds it to force it out of him. He cries harder, the pain is acute in his back and his balls throb, his nipples burning points of pain and then Tony digs the heels of his hands into Steve’s back and he whites out as he comes, throat going dry as he shouts and then strangles on it. 

When the white noise in his head lessens a fraction, he slowly becomes aware that he’s on his knees now, his hole empty and gaping and Tony is wiping him down with gentle hands. He can smell the clean scent of the wipes as Tony cleans the oil from his skin, pitiful whines falling from his lips, and it’s in that moment he realizes that the gag is gone and he can finally close his lips. His head droops heavily, chin resting on his chest and he moans softly, unable to stop himself as Tony cleans him. 

He’s still crying, moaning weakly, and then a hand touches his face and he blinks slowly, stupidly and finds Tony looking at him, a soft smile on his face. “Toneeee,” he slurs, slumping forward to seek out his warmth, a sob bubbling up in his chest as Tony catches him and holds him steady. 

“Just breathe,” Tony murmurs, “I need to clean your back,” he warns and Steve shifts, whining in fear at the thought of more pain even as his traitorous cock twitches weakly against his thigh.

“Toneee,” he whines, shaking his head, settling a little when Tony cups the nape of his neck and squeezes gently. 

“Shh, stay still,” Tony orders and it’s so easy to obey now, he has no idea why he was fighting so hard earlier, all he wants is to be  _ good _ . Tony keeps Steve’s face pressed to his shirt with a hand at the back of his skull as his other hand wipes his back off quickly but thoroughly, going over it three times till Steve is shaking and whining in pain, his cock plump against his thigh. 

“That’s it sweetheart, doing so good,” Tony murmurs and Steve’s breath hitches at the praise, emotions in turmoil that it took so long for Tony to say it. Steve had fought so hard and for what? Tony guides him back and Steve blinks, lifting a hand that he hadn’t realized was free to rub at his eyes. Tony smiles sadly and there’s sorrow in his eyes and Steve whines pitifully, throat going thick with emotion because Tony is  _ sad _ and he knows it’s his fault for fighting so hard and he sobs, shaking his head as he tries to fight it, but it’s all too much, too many emotions, too much pain and he sobs harder and harder, unable to catch his breath. 

Strong metal arms wind around him and lift him, as easily as if he was a babe, carrying him as he sobs, clinging to broad metal shoulders, face tucked in against a flesh throat that smells like sweat and Tony. He’s lowered into soft sheets, turned easily so he’s on his belly and the friction on his nipples hurts but what hurts worse is when the metal arms leave him. 

“Toneee,” he sobs, shaking and gasping, reaching for him desperately and then suddenly Tony is there, flesh against flesh and Steve cries harder, clinging harder than he has to anything ever before. 

Tony cradles him in his lap, rocking him like he’s a baby and it shatters something in Steve, finally lancing the festering wounds around his heart. He cries until he’s exhausted and unable to move, chest hitching with faint sobs as Tony scritches his nails against Steve’s scalp and hums softly, something soothing and gentle. 

Lips press to his brow and he leans into it, heart aching. 

“You needed that, huh?” Tony murmurs kindly, rubbing his hand up and down Steve’s bicep, “been bottling that up all week.” 

Steve nods and rubs at his eyes, dry and itchy now that he’s done crying. 

“Here, sip on this,” Tony murmurs and then there’s a straw at his lips and he does as he’s told and the sharp tangy sweetness of orange juice bursts across his tongue. He groans and sucks harder, whining when Tony takes it away a few moments later. “Shh, slow, you don’t want to choke,” Tony murmurs, petting Steve’s hair for a moment before offering up the straw again. 

Steve hums and nods weakly, sipping slowly till it’s all gone. Tony kisses his temple, “Good job honey,” he croons, nuzzling at Steve’s sweat damp hair, one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist, the other hand moving away and then returning, the sudden smell of roast chicken making his stomach growl loudly. “Open up,” Tony encourages and Steve does, easy as breathing, humming in pleasure when Tony pets his hair and kisses his brow. 

Tony feeds him for a while, the soothing skin to skin contact and soft words of praise easing the turmoil that had been in Steve’s head and heart. The food is followed up with one of his protein shakes and though he wrinkles his nose at the taste, he sips it obediently, head resting on Tony’s shoulder. He closes his eyes in pleasure as Tony runs his fingers through his hair over and over again, nails gently scraping on his scalp, sending shivers of delight down his spine. 

His back throbs and aches, deep into the muscle tissue and he knows in a hazy way that he’ll probably still be marked up tomorrow morning, a burst of heat and pleasure filling his belly at the idea of wearing Tony’s marks under his shirt. His faint smile fades when he recalls the way he’d fought Tony every step of the way, of how defiant and belligerent he’d been. 

Shame has tears pricking at his eyes again and he shifts, suddenly desperate to see Tony’s face. Tony’s arm around his waist loosens a little and when he meets Tony’s gaze his heart feels like it will shatter; Tony looks exhausted and his eyes are so sad it has a sob rupturing out of him. He did that, he did that to Tony, and it rocks him deeply, tears slipping down his face as he reaches for Tony, chanting out  _ I’m sorry _ over and over again. 

Tony lays his hand over Steve’s where it’s pressed to Tony’s cheek and leans his brow against Steve’s, eyes shining and sorrowful. “I know baby, I know,” he murmurs, “I knew it before you even said it.” 

For some reason it just makes Steve cry harder; Tony had known exactly what was going through his head and had worked to give him what he needed to break out of the dark thoughts and tangled emotions that had sent him spiraling in the first place. Despite Steve being rude and defiant and hurting Tony, he had still taken care of Steve and Steve shakes his head, tears hot on his cheeks. 

“I didn’t...you...why…” Steve starts and stops, head still foggy and he groans in frustration at his inability to find the words he wants. 

Tony pets his hair and kisses his brow, “Shh, not yet,”he murmurs. “Can you lay down on your belly for me so I can put cream on you?” he asks softly, nudging Steve’s nose with his to elicit a weak shaky smile. Steve nods and lets Tony guide him off his lap and onto his belly, shifting as his nipples rub into the fabric of their sheets. 

He tilts his head up on one side, watching as Tony kneels beside him, knees nudging against his ribs and the point of contact makes his heart lurch. He works a hand out from under his head and reaches out to wrap his hand around Tony’s ankle, stroking the bone delicately, everything else falling away to just that point of contact. 

Tony coats his back in cream to help heal the marks on his back, the cooling agent in it easing some of the burning ache in his back and ass where Tony applies it. He’s gentle with Steve’s balls, but still, by the time he’s done and the cream is dry on his skin, Steve is mostly hard again. He rolls over at Tony’s instruction, blushing when his erection is exposed, but Tony doesn’t mention it, just rubs cream into his chest and thighs, bending down to give him a quick kiss before he climbs off the bed and goes to wash his hands. 

Steve shifts on the bed, breath catching at the throb and ache in his back and ass, but he forces himself to sit up and lean back against the padded headboard, watching as Tony emerges from the bathroom, boxers hanging low on his hips. Tony doesn’t meet his gaze as he cleans up the food remnants and Steve’s belly clenches with fear; maybe he’s finally fucked up badly enough to push Tony away for good. 

Tony finally sits beside him, pulling the soft blanket from the foot of the bed up to cover Steve up, protecting him from the chill like he likes after a scene. He avoids Steve’s gaze for another moment before sighing heavily and lifting tired brown eyes up to meet Steve’s. “So,” he says, that single word heavy enough that it makes Steve’s gut curl, shame filling him once more. “We need to talk,” he says gently, reaching out to take Steve’s hand, twining their fingers together and that simple touch reassures Steve. 

Tony’s thumb strokes over his knuckles, again and again, soothing and gentle. “I’d like to hear from you first, if you don’t mind.”

Steve nods eagerly, throat thick with emotion and eyes burning with the urge to cry, but he forces himself to take a slow steadying breath before speaking. “I...the mission that went wrong, I felt like, like I failed her,” he says quietly, voice raw and pained. “I felt like I should have been able to do more to stop it from happening and then Coulson and Skye showed up and it was like being punched in the gut with the knowledge that I  _ could _ have stopped it, but I didn’t have the right tools and it just felt like failure.”

Tony nods and keeps rubbing his knuckles, gaze steady and warm and it gives Steve the courage to keep going. “You were right, about me going after Bucky. I was running from how I felt and trying to pretend like everything was okay and then Sam got hurt and I blamed myself for it and we lost Bucky  _ again _ and it all just got stuck right  _ here _ ,” he says, thumping his knuckles against his chest and shaking his head. 

He sniffles and uses his free hand to wipe at his eyes, chest shuddering as he tries not to break down again. “The thing at the gala was stupid, god Tony, it was  _ so _ stupid,” he says, shaking his head and laughing, but there’s no humor behind it, just pain. “I acted like an asshole to you and kept bottling shit up instead of telling you how I was feeling.” He wipes at his eyes again and his breath catches on a half sob, “And then we came home and I, I was out of control, and I pushed you, god Tony, I’m so sorry, I pushed you and--” a terrible thought occurs to him and he gasps sharply, looking up at Tony desperately. 

“Did I force you into this?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper and raw with pain. “Tony, did I?” 

Tony sniffles and wipes at his face with his free hand and shakes his head tiredly, “No, Steve, I knew you needed this days ago. I had a plan in place if you couldn’t talk to me and it became apparent tonight that you wouldn’t be able to do that without me taking you down hard.” He shrugs and smiles weakly, sadly, “I wish you had been able to talk to me, but I had a feeling it would come to this.” 

He sighs and shakes his head, wiping a hand over his face and Steve can see the emotional toll tonight has taken on him and guilt swamps him again. “I...I need you to promise this won’t happen again,” Tony murmurs, “you know the rules about taking care of yourself and talking to me or your therapist when things are bad in your head and you definitely know better than to accuse me of cheating, so, yea, I need your word this won’t happen again.”

Steve’s nodding before Tony’s even halfway through his speech, tears on his cheeks and it feels like his heart is breaking. “I’m so sorry Tony, of course, I promise,” he murmurs, taking their joined hands and kissing Tony’s knuckles, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he gasps out, “I love you so much.” 

Tony smiles, a real smile this time, and nods, leaning in for a short sweet kiss, “I know you do sweetheart, I know,” he whispers. He peppers kisses over Steve’s face, sliding closer to press against him and Steve clings tight, even when the stretch of his shoulders makes the marks on his back throb and ache anew. Tilting his chin, he makes a soft needy sound, pulling Tony closer when he kisses him, deeper this time. 

He shifts down against the bed, groaning at the pain in his back, holding Tony even tighter when he tries to move away. “Please, please don’t,” he begs, gaze desperate as it meets Tony’s, anxiety slipping away when Tony’s face warms with understanding and affection. Tony kisses him again and Steve pulls at him till he’s draped against Steve, hip to hip, the weight of him pressing his aching back and ass into the sheets beneath him.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, hands cupping the lines of Tony’s shoulders, sliding down to his waist, touching every place he can as Tony kisses him. Tony’s hands frame his face, fingers in his hair, thumbs on Steve’s cheekbones, rubbing gently as he kisses him, heavy and sweet and perfect. The throb in his back grows steadily, aching bone deep, his ass cherry red and pulsing with pain that has his cock growing harder with each drugging kiss Tony presses to his lips. 

Whining softly, he rolls his hips up, moaning into Tony’s mouth when he feels Tony’s half hard against his hip. 

“Please,” he gasps, rolling his hips up to press his cock into Tony and then back against the bed, chasing the aching pain that’s so sweet it makes his head spin. 

Tony nips at his lip, “Please what Steve,” he murmurs, “use your words.”

Steve whines and chases Tony’s mouth when he pulls away, writhing under him to get more of that delicious painful friction on his back and ass. “I want you in me,” he says, panting softly, “Please Tony, please, I need it.” 

Tony kisses his cheek and then brow, nuzzling at his hair, “You’re not too sore?” he asks cautiously. 

“No, promise, I just want you,” Steve tells him, hands gripping Tony’s hips probably too tight, holding him in place so he can grind up into him. 

Tony pulls back to stare at him for a moment, gaze intense and sharp, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Steve reaches up to tug it free with his thumb, smiling softly, pleadingly, “Please?” he whispers, “I just want to feel you,” he says, “just you.” 

Tony’s eyes flutter shut and he leans into Steve’s hand, inhaling shakily for a moment before nodding and pressing a kiss to Steve’s palm. “Okay, yea, just, let me get lube,” he murmurs, slipping from Steve’s lap with one last lingering kiss. Steve watches him shuck his boxers and tosses the blanket that had been covering him back to the foot of the bed, legs spreading in anticipation. 

Tony chuckles softly, fondly, when he sees, shaking his head as he crawls onto the bed and between Steve’s legs. A smirk forms on his lips and this time it’s playful, warm. Steve gasps and jolts when Tony’s fingers run over the bruised skin of his balls, fire racing up his spine and exploding behind his eyes. Panting, he opens his eyes and pushes down into the touch, seeking out more, groaning when Tony obliges him and rolls his sac around in his palm, gentle but firm. 

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Tony murmurs, releasing his balls as he leans in for a searing kiss that leaves Steve moaning and clinging to him eagerly. He pants as Tony pulls away, eagerly spreading his legs more, flushing when Tony smirks at him and coats his fingers with lube. He pauses and Steve whines in impatience, flushing when Tony gives him a quelling look. “This will be easier on your hands and knees,” he says, clearly an offer, but Steve shakes his head vehemently. 

“I want to see you,” he whispers, reaching out to brush his fingers against Tony’s arm, “I just want you.”

Tony softens immediately and leans in for another devastating kiss, panting softly when he pulls back and rests his forehead against Steve’s. “I love you,” he whispers, kissing Steve again. 

Steve makes a soft wounded sound, every part of him aching and hurting with how much he loves Tony. He nods, kissing back hard, clinging to Tony, “Love you too,” he breathes, “love you.” 

Tony reaches down between them, fingers slick against Steve’s gaping and sore hole, circling slowly, pushing against the weak muscle, spreading the lube so he’s wet all over and his face heats with humiliation at how easy it would be for Tony to just shove in without it--he’s so open and vulnerable. 

Pulling away from Steve, Tony slicks up his fingers and pushes in with four, easy as anything and Steve gasps sharply, arching into it, a halfhearted sob falling from his lips at how loose he is, how  _ easy _ he is. Tony pushes his hips down with one hand, eyes dark and intent as Steve moans, shoulders digging into the fabric, ass grinding into the mattress. He tries to clench around Tony’s fingers but he’s too loose and his face goes crimson with the humiliation of it, gut writhing with heat and want. 

“You’re all soft and loose baby,” Tony croons, twisting his fingers to spread the lube and Steve groans, lifting a hand to cover his eyes, shaking with humiliation and want, back and ass throbbing in time with the slow steady push of Tony’s fingers inside him. 

“Please,” he moans, pushing his hips down, “Please Tony,” he says, words hitching as Tony finds his prostate and rubs intently. His cock throbs and drips onto his belly and he gasps, whining softly at the build of heat in his veins, heady and intense. He just wants Tony inside him, filling him up, as close as he can possibly get and he whines, reaching down to push Tony’s hand away, meeting Tony’s confused gaze with a faint smile. 

“Please, I need your cock inside me Tony,” he pants out, fingers wrapped around Tony’s wrist, holding him still, “I need to feel you.” 

Tony makes a low wounded sound in his throat and nods, surging forward to kiss Steve, twisting his wrist to free it before lacing their fingers together and pushing Steve’s hand down beside his head. Tony arches into him, free hand hitching Steve’s thigh over his hip as he kisses him, hungry and just as needy as Steve feels, their groans loud in the room. 

He feels so good like this, pressed down with Tony atop him, holding him securely, like he’s precious and loved. Moaning happily, he gasps against Tony’s lips as the head of his cock catches on the loose edge of Steve’s rim and then with one long push, it’s sliding into him. “Fuck,  _ Tony _ ,” he whines, shaking as Tony’s cock pushes against his sore and throbbing walls, slick with pre cum and lube and blood hot inside him. 

Tears well at the corners of his eyes as Tony kisses him hungrily, fingers tightening against Steve’s where they’re still pressed to the mattress, his other hand at the small of Tony’s back, holding him close and tight. “Tony,” he gasps against his mouth, lips wet and bruised from kisses and the lingering swelling from the gag. Tony thrusts minutely, more of a hard grind into him that makes him see stars with the way it makes Tony’s cock grind into his sensitive insides. 

He gasps and moans as Tony grinds into him with tiny thrusts, tears springing to his eyes with the way it pushes his back and ass harder into the bed, pain making him shiver, cock leaking onto his belly where it’s trapped between him and Tony. It feels so good it’s all he can do to snatch a few breaths of air between the kisses Tony demands from him as he grinds into him over and over again. 

Tony shifts and works his way lower, nipping and sucking marks into Steve’s throat, beard burning against his skin. Steve moans and squirms, a gasping sob falling from his lips as Tony bites down on his throat, body writhing as pain and pleasure collide once more inside him. “That’s it, you sound so good,” Tony croons, licking over the indents his teeth have left behind, “sweet thing.” 

Steve blushes at the sugar sweet words, clinging tighter as Tony rolls his hips in slightly longer thrusts, mouth working more marks into the skin of Steve’s clavicle. He’s not going to be able to wear anything with a neckline lower than his throat tomorrow and even then everyone is going to see the marks Tony’s leaving and the thought of it makes him shudder with embarrassment and preen at the thought of how he’ll look, Tony’s marks all over his skin. 

Tony’s lips close around his right nipple suddenly and Steve cries out at the hot wet suction on his aching flesh, cock throbbing between them. He writhes as Tony thrusts, steady and even like a heartbeat, lips and tongue and teeth torturing the already abused flesh of his nipple. Steve sobs, stars pulsing behind his eyes as Tony uses his teeth to tug at his nipple, pulling it taut till he’s sure he’s going to come, and then releases it. 

Panting and whining, Steve grinds his shoulders into the sheets, pain flaring in his veins so his cock throbs and leaks, a keening cry falling from his lips. 

Tony nips at his left nipple, panting softly, “That’s it sweetheart, just feel it, feel me,” he murmurs, licking gently at Steve’s nipple before closing his lips around it and sucking hard. Steve sobs and arches into it, ass grinding into the mattress and clenching around Tony’s cock weakly, too loose to get tight enough, the lewd squelch of Tony’s next thrust making his face burn. 

“I feel it,” he pants out, “I feel you!” he sobs, free hand tangling in Tony’s hair, clinging desperately as Tony rocks his body with pleasure and pain alike. Tony moans and thrusts harder, mouthing at Steve’s nipples, sucking and licking, free hand slipped under Steve to cup the small of his back, holding his hips up so he can thrust deeper. 

“Tony!”

“That’s it, feel me,” Tony pants, pressing his forehead against Steve’s chest, thrusts picking up pace now, his control clearly slipping. “Feel me honey?” he asks, mouth wet against Steve’s skin, “feels so good inside you, so good.”

Steve flushes with the praise and tries to clench down a little, eager to make it even better for Tony. His fingers are probably too tight on Tony’s sweat damp hair but he can’t make himself let go, he can only cling and take everything Tony gives him. “Tony,” he moans, shivering as Tony shifts so he’s more on his knees, Steve’s ass angled up onto his thighs. He slides deeper this way, bending over Steve so he can press kisses to his lips, thumb stroking the tender and aching flesh at the crux of his hip and thigh, the sweet ache of it leaving him shivering. 

Steve’s lips slide wetly against Tony’s less of kiss and more a sharing of air, both of them panting and staring into each other’s eyes as Tony thrusts harder, his scarred chest heaving with each breath he takes. Releasing his grip on Tony’s hair, his fingers trail down the sharp planes of Tony’s face and over his throat, down to where the arc used to be, throat working hard when Tony makes a wounded sound and kisses him hard and desperate. “Fuck, I love you Steve,” he chokes out, voice thick and raw.

Steve nods jerkily and kisses him again, panting out “I love you too,” and then keening as Tony fucks into him harder, faster, the force of his thrusts making Steve’s back slide against the sheets, the raw pain of it making him sob with want. His cock leaks against his belly, little spurts of cum with each of Tony’s thrusts and he can feel it building inside him, the need to come. 

Splaying his fingers out over the scar tissue left behind by the arc, Steve angles his hips more and pushes his back hard into the bed, crying out in ecstatic agony. “Tony!” 

“Please! Wanna...wanna feel you,” he gasps out, crying out again as Tony groans, a wrecked sound, thrusting harder, eyes searching Steve’s face desperately. 

“C’mon Steve, come for me,” he demands breathlessly, leaning down for a kiss, “lemme feel you,” he whispers, nipping Steve’s lower lip before he leans back up, their hands still connected by Steve’s head, sliding together, slippery with sweat but neither of them are letting go. 

Steve nods and grinds his shoulders into the bed, sobbing at the sheer amount of pain it sends through him, breath catching as it wracks his spine. Tony grinds into him, each thrust pressing against his prostate, and then he’s wrapping a calloused hand around Steve’s cock and demanding he come and there’s nothing Steve can do to hold it back. 

Shouting, he comes, sobbing as it goes on and on, making a mess of his chest and Tony’s hand. He whimpers when Tony smears it into the hot aching skin of his chest, rubbing it into his nipples as he thrusts, sloppier now as he pants and moans, clearly close. “Tony,” he slurs, “in me, wanna feel it,” he sighs, tiny whimpers falling from his lips at the overstimulation to his hot, bruised insides, his prostate throbbing with each thrust. 

Tony groans like he’s dying and snaps his hips harder, a half sob on his lips, “Steve,  _ Steve _ , oh fuck baby,” he moans brokenly, head falling back as he comes, the heat of it searing against his tender walls. Steve moans and clenches around him weakly, stroking a hand up and down Tony’s back slowly, tiny gasping moans falling from his lips with each of Tony’s thrusts. 

“I feel you,” he whispers, “I feel you Tony.” 

Tony stills, one hand braced on Steve’s chest, and sobs, breathless as he breaks and collapses slowly against Steve, tears on his cheeks. Steve holds him tight, releasing their joined hands to wrap his arms around him, peppering kisses to his sweaty brow. “Shh, I feel you Tony, I’ve got you,” he croons, meeting Tony’s searching mouth for a salty kiss, heart a throbbing ache in his chest as Tony clings to him desperately. Closing his eyes, he inhales deeply, taking in the scent of Tony’s sweat and his own cum on his skin, something incredibly soothing, familiar, about it. 

Tony’s tears slow eventually and he goes limp and heavy atop Steve, breathing slow but not entirely steady--he’s still awake, but clearly exhausted. Smiling softly, Steve kisses his brow and rolls over slowly, wincing when it dislodges Tony from inside him, but then he can lean on one elbow and smile down at Tony, so it’s worth it. 

He’s floaty and soft and when he cups Tony’s cheek, he’s deeply pleased to see the way Tony leans into it and turns his face to press a kiss to his palm. “I feel you,” he whispers, sinfully long lashes fluttering open to peer at Steve. He smiles tiredly up at Steve, hand cupping Steve’s hip gently, both of them content to just look at each other and bask in the afterglow. 

After a few minutes Tony’s lashes are starting to stay closed longer and longer between blinks so Steve gets up, smiling and dropping a kiss on Tony’s lips at his sad whine, wetting a cloth to wipe first himself and then Tony clean. Tossing it aside carelessly, he maneuvers both himself and Tony beneath the sheets and then presses against him so they’re face to face, smiling at the way Tony’s eyes are drooping heavily. 

“You okay?” he asks softly, drawing the blankets up till they’re nearly cocooned, barely enough light for them to see each other by, but it feels safe and right now, that’s all he wants. Tony nods and blinks sleepily, fingers suddenly pressing to Steve’s lips for a moment before he leans in and kisses him, slow and honey sweet. 

“I’m okay,” he whispers, pressing his brow to Steve’s, lashes fluttering against his cheek. 

They tangle together, arms over waists, feet and legs twisted, bodies pressed as close as they can possibly get and Steve swallows hard, blinking back tears again. This time he’s so happy it feels hard to breathe around it and he kisses Tony again, nudging their noses together gently. “I love you,” he whispers, thumb stroking the dips and swells of Tony’s spine. He closes his eyes and says it again into the warm space between them, smiling when Tony kisses him again. 

All he feels is Tony; his touch, his breath, his heartbeat. 

Tony’s hand cups his ribs gently, like Steve is breakable, and well, maybe he is. 

As long as Tony’s there to help him pick up the pieces after, he can survive it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say in the comments!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


End file.
